


Be My Savior

by Likea_boss9987



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Prostitution, Rent Boy!Harry, Serial Killer!Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:59:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1403953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likea_boss9987/pseuds/Likea_boss9987
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco was a Serial Killer; he paid for sex and then killed the rentboy. His next target? Harry. But why hasn’t he killed him yet and why did he keep coming back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be My Savior

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Notes:** This is a non-magical AU. I’m so sorry if that was not what the prompter but I sort of got this idea stuck in mind… I had planned to make this story way longer as there are a lot more problems that could be resolved but for this story I think I’ll just keep the ending vague. This is more about Draco changing his ways than anything else.

The sweet stench of fresh blood blew to Draco’s nostrils and he inhaled deeply, basking in the wonderful smell. There was nothing better than a kill. Nothing.

Draco withdrew the bloody dagger—the special dagger he used for all his kills, given to him by his father as a souvenir when he had started preparatory school—from the naked rentboy before sneering down at the dead body.

He was Draco Malfoy, Heir to the Malfoy fortune, Vice-Chairperson (soon to be Chairperson) of Malfoy Corporations and the notorious Rentboy Serial Killer (a very unoriginal name and not one Draco would have chosen for himself but the police force was never known for their wit). The dead body currently lying on the blood stained bed was just one nameless face in his line of nobody victims.

23 prostitutes to date, one more to make an even two dozen. Draco’s lips twitched upwards at the thought. The police were searching for him—albeit not very hard considering this _were_ only rent boys he was killing—and Draco loved the thrill of the chase. Especially since he knew he would come out as the winner.

Draco was raised as a spoilt aristocrat, raised to be the very best, but had been under strict control as a child. Much of his actions had been monitored, his decisions already made for him. His entire life path had been set before he even took his first steps. And Draco _was_ the perfect heir, good at business and all that rot. He was the perfect person to the public, to his parents, to _everyone_. Except at nightfall.

Being gay wasn’t really much of a surprise to Draco (he had been quite adverse to touching any part of the female anatomy since Pansy, his childhood friend, kissed him on the cheek when they were seven) but he knew his parents wouldn’t like it. Too abnormal—it would make him look less perfect.

No, Draco would end up doing that of which his parents expected. He would find a rich, attractive (he might be homosexual but he couldn’t bloody well touch an ugly woman, could he?) heiress to marry so that they could form business connections and procreate. However, that did not mean he couldn’t find pleasure elsewhere.

The first time he went to a rent boy, he had gone only seeking sexual release. Alas, that stupid whore recognized him from the papers (the name Malfoy was, as mentioned before, prestigious and often made an appearance in the papers) and Draco had no choice but to murder that fool when he tried blackmailing him. It was easy since Draco’s preference of men were of shorter and slighter stature than him. The boy never even stood a chance.

But from then on, Draco was hooked. The feeling he got, the adrenaline he felt as he made the final stab, it was intoxicating. Draco felt like a god, deciding when to end worthless lives. Also, doing this all in secret, easily evading the police’s miserable attempts to catch him, _that_ was the clincher. Yes, Draco became a hunting predator as the sun set, searching for whores to fuck and after, to kill.

He went to the sink and washed the blood off the dagger with practiced strokes before putting on his clothes, arranging them back to their original pristine condition. He slid the now-clean dagger into his suit pocket and turned to leave. Before leaving, he picked up the rent boy’s underwear, placed it into a sealed bag then shoved it into one of his suit pockets. A new trophy for his collection—huh, a red one, he hadn’t one in his collection yet. Brilliant.

As he walked out of the filthy third-rate apartment, he paused for a moment, and said, “Pleasure doing business with you,” He took out a wad of cash and tossed it over the motionless body, the notes fluttering down, covering it in a mess of green. “Keep the change.” And he left, leaving the body with a grotesque expression on its face for someone to find.

* * *

The room was dark and reeked of sex. Not surprising, since that was basically what this room was used for. And ironically, this awful room was the best in the brothel, and in it sat a beautiful young man who was barely eighteen. This particular young man, with bright green eyes that shined like emeralds and dark hair as black as night, was waiting patiently for the next client to walk through those plain wooden doors. This man was Harry Potter and he regretted to say that he was a rentboy.

Reflecting on how he ended up here was of no use but Harry could not help but always think of it during the intervals between clients, after he had cleaned himself, all the while pretending he was still pure (how far that was from the truth). His brain never gave him a break as it constantly tortured him with memories of that fateful day he was sold to Tom Marvolo Riddle—or Voldemort, as he forced his ‘employees’ to call him. Not that Harry had seen him since his 'training' days.

He wondered if there was anything he could have done to escape this, though he knew that the answer was an unfortunate no.

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes, allowing the memories to take over reality.

_Harry sat quietly in his cupboard, stomach growling. He wanted to cry but he held the tears in. He couldn’t cry. That wouldn’t earn him anything but another day without food and it wasn’t as if he had enough moisture to spare. He opened his mouth, trying to call for his Uncle to please just let him out, he’ll do anything, but his throat was dry, so dry, that he could hardly make a sound, and instead, out came a wheeze._

_Harry did not understand why he was locked in the cupboard, why his Aunt was withholding food; he hadn’t done anything wrong this week! The bacon wasn’t burnt, Dudley’s room was squeaky clean and he didn’t go out of the house but yet he was suffering punishment._

_What exactly had he done wrong?_

_Suddenly, the cupboard door slammed open and a giant meaty hand appeared, grabbing Harry roughly by his arm and pulled him out of the darkness of his closet._

_“Finally getting rid of you Freak…finally…” Harry heard his Uncle Vernon mutter under his breath. Harry’s stomach dropped._ What did he mean?

_Harry was dragged to the front door and soon found out what his Uncle meant when he saw a handsome, imposing man tapping his foot impatiently outside the door._

_“So this is him?” The man inquired, and Harry fidgeted under his intent gaze. “Not bad—customers like kids like him. Okay Dursley, you have a deal.”_

_The tall man placed a thick wad of cash into his uncle’s grabby hands before yanking Harry from his grasp. Harry tried his best to escape this scary man but not ingesting any food or water for two days left him weak and vulnerable._

_“Uncle! What’s happening? Help me!”_

_However, Uncle Vernon did nothing to stop the man from bringing Harry away.  
Harry was shoved into the backseat of a fancy-looking red convertible and the last thing he saw before giving in to sweet oblivion was his Uncle cheering wildly as he drove further away from his only remaining ‘family’ and closer and closer to a life of selling his body._

_Harry was nine then._

He wondered if his parents hadn’t died in that car crash all those years ago, would his life be different? Would he be out there studying and making something out of his life with people who loved him instead of living in a rundown building having his body sullied everyday by various pawing hands? Would he be happy—clean, pure and happy?

Were his parents watching now, disgusted at what he was doing?

Harry hadn’t realised he was crying until he felt a tear drip onto his hand. He quickly swiped it away and took a deep breath. He always got too emotional and customers didn’t like bloodshot eyes. Once he got back control of his feelings, he realised there had been a heavily concealed man (not surprising; many customers came in that way, not wanting to reveal their identities to anyone) watching him and he swallowed hard.

Harry’s mind went blank as he let his provocative side take over. No more tears—he had a client to serve.

* * *

Draco had decided that his twenty-fourth kill on his twenty-fourth year should be special. The next time he reached another even dozen, he might already be married with an heir, and won’t that just suck the fun out of it?

He’d heard about a popular rentboy at some gay bars (he always went there in a heavy disguise; can’t let anyone find out who it is, after all), someone named ‘Lightning’, and this person was now his new target. He had never targeted a specific person before so this would be a first. This was also the first time he was going to enter a brothel—he usually just picked up the whores on the street—so he would have to proceed with caution. But at the end it would be worth it. When he succeeded, this would be his greatest personal achievement. It was decided; he would kill this ‘Lightning’.

This rentboy should be honoured that Draco was giving him this much attention, without even knowing who he was.

As it serviced to known figures who didn’t want anyone to know of their… nightly activities, the brothel was hidden behind a dingy looking bar so that only people in the know could find it. It is perhaps the best brothel someone like Draco could ask for, as it was disguised and discreet. Perfect.

The brothel itself wasn’t half-bad; it was sufficiently furnished with dimmed lights, cushy furniture and an annoyingly persistent pimp who greeted Draco with such a wide smile that it must have hurt. Though the pimp stood behind a high counter, it was obvious that he wore quite revealing clothing, and Draco felt his flaccid cock harden at the sight. He needed to get this ‘Lightning’ ASAP.

Draco himself wore a thick coat that hid the majority of his body, the collar turned upwards to conceal his face. A fedora hat covered his signature platinum blond hair that could give him away in a second. His attire ensured that no one in the brothel would know his identity besides the rent boy, who wouldn’t be a problem when the sun rose the next day.

“Male or female?” the pimp asked Draco, at the same time taking out two different coloured files—one blue, one red—from behind the counter.

“Lightning,” Draco answered simply, sure that the brothel-keeper would understand who he meant immediately. And indeed, the pimp nodded. He peeped into the blue file and frowned, before quickly replacing it with a false sweet smile.

“I’m sorry but he isn’t available at the moment. How about someone else?” the pimp fluttered his eyelashes flirtatiously and Draco had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Was he for real?

“No thanks, I think I’ll wait.”

“Suit yourself,” the pimp replied, gesturing to the small waiting area made up of a singular couch. Draco sat down and waited.

After half an hour or so, a burly redhead walked down the stairs into the main room, a satisfied smile on his face. The large male placed a wad of dollar bills into the pimp’s greedy hands. When he noticed Draco sitting on the sofa, he winked at him before heading out the door, back to the dingy bar. Draco’s eyebrow shot up his hairline but he stood up as soon as the pimp beckoned for him.

“Looks like he’s ready for you. Have fun.” At that, the pimp gave Draco a saucy wink before directing him to the stairs. “He’s in Room 221B.”

Draco nodded before walking briskly up the stairs, which lead him to a long corridor lined with doors. He could hear noises coming from most of the rooms: moans, groans, screams and the like. The sounds of pleasure made Draco harden and Draco had to continuously adjust the front of his pants as he shuffled down the hall, searching for the door.

Finally, he arrived at a nondescript wooden door (though he knew by tomorrow morn it will be hiding a crime scene) and was shocked when he heard sobs coming from behind it. _What the…?_

Inching the door open to investigate, he was stunned by the image that greeted him. A naked teenager with shoulder length raven hair was crying on a white bed and Draco couldn’t help but compare him to a weeping angel. _Beautiful,_ was the word that came to mind as he watched the weeping boy, and all thoughts of killing and fucking went out the window. All he wanted to do at the moment was gather the boy into his arms and rock him to sleep; he wanted to stop those tears from streaming down that pretty face.

When the crying suddenly stopped and the spell was broken, Draco noticed that the boy was staring at him with those shimmering eyes, his head tilted adorably to the side.

As he recalled his previous thoughts, he was very much tempted to find a wall to bang his head against. No. _No._ He couldn’t believe for one second that he had actually felt sympathy for a _whore,_ had actually wanted to take care of one. Shaking his head slightly, Draco banished those thoughts from his now-sane mind, reminding himself that his purpose for coming today was to screw and murder, not smother and love.

“Why hello handsome.” The sultry voice snapped Draco out of his thoughts and Draco realised that he must have looked like an idiot just standing there when there was a delicious rentboy just waiting to serve him, his face turning red embarrassedly. Hopefully in the dim lighting the boy wouldn’t notice.

He watched with lust as the skimpily dressed teen (only a swatch of cloth covered his cock as well as that lovely arse, the fabric veering into the cheeks) advanced towards him seductively, the previously vulnerable boy now replaced with a voluptuous temptress.

Draco released a gulp as blood rushed to his prick, making him fully erect in a matter of seconds.

 _Good Lord,_ he wanted to fuck that gorgeous sight in front of him.

The dark-haired boy was now right in front of him, his palm lightly trailing up and down Draco’s still-clothed chest. Wait, why did he still have clothes on when he could be naked and fucking that gorgeous person in front of him? Exactly. There was no reason besides Draco being utterly stupid.

Quickly stripping of his clothes, inwardly preening when he saw the boy’s appreciative appraisal of his naked form, he then pounced forward with a predatory growl, lifting the teen’s small figure and throwing him onto the bed, eliciting a surprised sound from the teen.

“Eager, aren’t you?” the boy giggled, batting his pretty long eyelashes at Draco.

Draco groaned at the sight, not able to control his bodily functions any longer. He gave in to his desires and straddled the boy, rutting his prick against the boy’s perfect arse in response to his words, impatient and wanting. _What am I doing?_ Draco thought for a split second, after realising how needy he was acting. _I’m usually the one in control, how is he reducing me to this pathetic state?_

But those thoughts soon dissipated when the boy reached down to lightly stroke Draco’s cock.

“Woah! Slow down! Don’t you want me to suck you first? ‘Cause I can guarantee that I am very, _very_ good at giving head, especially to one as thick as yours.”

Draco nodded dumbly, his ego purring at the teen’s compliment to his dick. Though it was the truth after all, his prick was definitely larger than an average male’s.

The boy proceeded to crawl out from under Draco and pushed him to lie on the bed. He then lowered his face until it was the same level as Draco’s prick, and _god_ Draco just wanted to fuck those pink lips. So, he nudged upwards to press the tip of his length against the teen’s lips, trying to convey his need to _hurry, get into that warm mouth NOW!_

And soon, his dick was enveloped in wet heat, all the way in the boy’s brilliant, flexible throat. Draco couldn’t help but thrust and thrust and thrust, enjoying the boy’s muffled moans around his prick. As he felt himself almost reaching his peak, he shoved the boy off him and pinned him to the bed.

“Wha—?”

“I want to come in you, beautiful. I want to spill my hot load into that sweet, tight arse of yours,” Draco murmured into the boy’s ear as his dry finger dipped into the boy’s crack, touching his arsehole. He realised that it was already loose enough to enter without causing unnecessary pain—it had been recently penetrated by the escort’s previous customers, after all—and even though Draco knew that, he still frowned at the thought.

Intense, irrational jealousy flooded him—he wanted to be the only one to fuck this lovely body—and Draco felt the sudden urge to hunt down all the people who had dared touch the boy before him and slit their throats.

That was the first time Draco ever contemplated killing someone because of another person and it confused and frightened him at the same time.

Shutting those strange thoughts away, Draco focused on the task at hand: entering that pert white arse.

“I’m going to take you without preparation, Lightning. I know you won’t mind; that hole is already loose, isn’t it? You little slut. You enjoy a big, fat cock in your hole, don’t you?”

The boy just whimpered below him, which Draco took for consent.

He positioned his erection to the boy’s entrance and in one swift movement, entered the most glorious heat he had ever felt in his life. Idly, Draco cursed himself for not using a condom; he always used protection so that the police won’t be able to use his semen to track him down (via DNA testing), but one look at this boy had him forgetting.

But at the moment, Draco couldn’t care less about using protection when he was fucking such a beautiful specimen of a human being.

“Nhh...Fuck me harder. Drive your big, pulsing cock into me! Pound into my hole!” the boy yelled in pleasure.

Draco shivered in delight at the boy’s words and sped up his thrusts, bringing the boy’s legs up so he could take him deeper. Looking at the lewd expression on the boy’s face as Draco penetrated him again and again, those amazing emerald green eyes lighting up in pleasure, made Draco certain that he wouldn’t last very long.

After what seemed like an eternity in paradise, the boy reached his climax, his come splattering Draco’s chest, as well as his own.

The feeling of the boy’s inner silky walls tightening all around him was too much and Draco succumbed to his own orgasm, spilling his seed deep into the rent boy in front of him.

“That was nice,” the boy said as Draco pulled out of him with an obscene sound, causing Draco’s come to slide out of that much abused hole of his.

“Yeah, it was,” Draco replied, feeling absolutely sated and understanding completely why so many people liked to use Lightning’s services. He was unlike any rent boy Draco has ever met. He was so responsive and willing to do what Draco commanded. It was wonderful.

“So…” the boy said when he realised that Draco was still there, “aren’t you going to leave?”

“What? Why?”

“Um...because I might have more customers?” the boy said reluctantly, staring down at his hands, and he almost looked—ashamed.

Oh, right. Draco had forgotten that this amazing creature wasn’t exclusively his; he had forgotten his main purpose of coming here in the first place. But instead of getting mad at the boy for managing to derail his plans, he was angry at the fact that there were going to be other people after him who were going to see this body, touch it, desecrate it with their unworthy penises. They didn’t deserve to see this boy squirm beneath them, didn’t deserve such a pliant, beautiful body to thrust into.

Uh, that thought made Draco want to drive a knife into someone’s heart, preferably someone who had dared touch this boy before Draco.

“Hello? Are you okay, mister?” the boy questioned, breaking through Draco’s reverie.

“Is there a way to keep you until morning?” Draco asked, sounding somewhat desperate even to himself.

“Um...sure? You can have me for however long you want, but it’s fifty dollars for every hour. Why would you want to spend so much money on me?” the boy pursed his lips nervously, so different from that confident seducer of before.

“Why not? You have an amazing body and I’m not satisfied yet. Why shouldn’t I spend money on this? Don’t presume to know me,” Draco retorted with a raised eyebrow, not knowing why the boy was acting so awkward now, as if he didn’t know how many people wanted him in their beds. It was actually kind of...endearing.

“If you want. It’s your choice.”

And with that, Draco continued having sex with the boy until they collapsed in exhaustion.

When Draco woke up the next morning, he felt better than he had ever felt in years. A languid smile spread across his face as he looked down at the peacefully slumbering boy next to him. The smile quickly gave way to a frown, however, as he caught sight of his coat, his special dagger hidden within it.

_I have to kill him. I’ve got to kill him now._

But as he stared down at the boy, he knew he couldn’t do it, not today at least.

 _It’s not because you like him, it’s because...because...ah yes! You didn’t use a condom; your spunk is inside him. If you kill him now, the police will be able to track you down easily and it’ll be game over for you._ His mind came up with an excuse for his failure to murder the boy.

Draco readily accepted the excuse, grateful that he wasn’t actually becoming soft. It was just fact and self-preservation; why would he want to kill someone if would get caught in the end?

 _It’s fine—I can always kill him next time_.

But the thing Draco was most certain about was that there _definitely_ would be a next time.

* * *

The blond customer kept coming back and it confused Harry. Not because he returned—many others did that all the time, for some reason Harry couldn’t fathom—but because he didn’t always come for sex.

Sometimes, he just came and held Harry in his arms or talk to him about the world outside this hopeless place, which Harry knew nothing about.

Whenever they talked about the outside world, Harry would drink in the information like a dying man. Hearing the bits of knowledge the man brought in made Harry yearn to see it for himself.

But Harry knew he couldn't.

No matter though. Harry felt contented with his life with the man by his side. He made Harry feel loved, cherished, and Harry revelled in the grey-eyed man’s presence, especially when they weren’t having sexual intercourse of any shape or form, as it made him feel that someone cared for him beyond his body and the money it brought. Also, every second he spent with him, the less time he had to entertain another bloke, which in Harry’s opinion was great news.

However, Harry still did not know his lover’s (he needed a term to separate this person from all the other people who used his body for their own pleasure) name, and vice versa. The guy never asked Harry’s name or offered to tell Harry his. He usually just called Harry by his stage name, ‘Lightning’, or ‘beautiful’. Even though Harry enjoyed every second spent with his blond lover, he suspected there was something going on. Occasionally, Harry would awake to see the blond staring at him, looking as if he was fighting some inner battle. It was worrying to see someone he trusts appear so conflicted, and not knowing why.

This client was a mystery and Harry hated not knowing what he was hiding. Particularly since Harry found himself yearning for the man when he wasn’t around and felt so guilty when another regular penetrated him.

Even so, Harry was falling and it made him scared, especially since Harry knew there no way this man actually _loved_ him. Even if by some crazy miracle he _did,_ Harry knew it would never work out.

He was a strumpet, nothing more, and he was bound by contract (albeit not one he signed). Harry’s love and ability to _be_ loved had already been sold away, along with his body, a long time ago.

* * *

“So...how _did_ you become a prostitute? I mean—I don’t mean to pry and you’re not required to answer, but I’m curious.” Draco asked, quickly adding the last part when he felt Lightning stiffen beside him.

“What makes you think I don’t just do it for the sex?” the boy replied flatly, his face wiped blank, no emotions visible.

Draco snorted at that comment. How stupid did the boy think he was?

“Because it’s obvious that you don’t. You hate it. Even with me, you prefer cuddling to having sex.”

“What makes you think that I don’t cuddle with my other customers as well? Maybe I like both the sex _and_ the cuddling ” was the retort. At that, _Draco_ stiffened, and not in the good way. A possessive growl escaped his lips as he flung himself off the bed and onto the boy, pushing the boy further back into the mattress.

“ _Don’t_ say things like that,” Draco snarled as he attacked the boy’s soft lips.

Draco had been trying hard to block out all reminders that this beautiful person wasn’t his, that this was a _rent boy_ he had gained a deep regard for, but now, the fact was being shoved in his face, causing his brain to overload with jealousy.

In truth, Draco did not understand why this boy was still alive. Why Draco still allowed him to live. This raven-haired teen, no matter how gorgeous, should have died three months prior. But yet he still survived.

For the past three months, Draco had been visiting this boy almost daily, sometimes not even for sex, but to ensure no one else could touch him. His parents were starting to get suspicious, repeatedly asking him where he was going, in which Draco would always make a half-baked lie that he knew they didn’t believe. His parents might even be starting an investigation, finding someone to spy on him but Draco didn’t care.

Draco—who formerly took pride in making his parents proud, his ability to skilfully craft lies and protecting his public image— _didn’t care_.

He kept going back, even though he knew it would all go pear-shaped one day.

And after every visit, Draco would usually struggle with his common sense—that tiny, niggling voice at the back of his skull that told him to _just kill the boy already_ —making up more and more excuses that didn’t make an ounce of sense to convince himself that killing the boy would be a bad idea and that he would do it tomorrow. However, Draco knew deep down that he was never going to kill the boy; his dagger would never touch that soft skin.

For Christ’s sake, Draco didn’t even bring his dagger anymore!

These past few months, Draco also hasn’t murdered another prostitute (utterly confusing the police at the sudden disappearance of the Rentboy Serial Killer), nor has he fucked one. No undergarments had been recently added to his collection. The adrenaline he once lived on was now replaced with the wonderful, warm and intense feeling Draco got whenever he went to Lightning.

And Draco didn’t even know this person’s real name, though he knew lots of other things.

He knew about the boy’s distaste about selling his body (regardless of how he denied it) and he knew every inch of the boy’s body like he knew his bank account (from his lightning bolt birthmark to that rosy pucker that he loved sinking into).

He has memorised all of the little things the boy did, how those pretty pink lips curled upwards slightly and invitingly whenever he saw Draco pass through his door, how his eyelashes would flutter when Draco asked him a question he would like to avoid answering, the pursing of his lips whenever his past was ever mentioned, and the large grin that would grace his face whenever Draco brought him more news about the world not open to him.

And these don’t even include the boy’s sexual reactions and habits.

 _What am I doing? What am I doing with myself?_ Draco chastised himself as he entered the boy again and again, losing himself in the squirming body below him.

As he felt the heat rise in his lower body, signifying that he was on the verge of orgasm, he released deep into the body, falling flat down back to the bed, panting harshly, sweat running down his skin in small rivulets.

Lightning had come right with him—he always did, something that Draco took great pleasure in knowing.

 _I bet he never comes with his other clients,_ Draco thought smugly. Though his mind shied away from the thought in the next instance as another reminder that Lightning served other people assaulted him once again.

Draco could not stand it any longer! He never wanted to think of Lightning with another man ever again. Which meant something had to be done to make the boy solely his. Draco stored the idea away to be expanded upon later on when he was back home. At the moment, he was with Lightning and these moments were sacred.

 _But what even makes you think he likes you? What makes you think he wants to be yours?_ A voice inside Draco’s head—his insecurities, if Draco had any—mocked, _He might act like he enjoys your company but it isn’t sincere. He probably does this with all his customers. Didn’t you hear what he said before?_

Nope, Draco didn’t need this, didn’t _want_ these thoughts invading his mind and he quickly drove them away with an imaginary fly swatter.

“So. Are you going to enlighten me with an answer or not?” Draco questioned after a long, comfortable pause, at the same time wanting to interrupt his less-than-savoury thoughts and not allow them to grow.

The boy chewed on his lower lip, making Draco want to snog him silly and bite that delectable flesh for him, and he could see the reluctance in those verdant, green eyes.

Draco didn’t give him a way out this time, wanting to know more about this boy’s past; something that he would not even care about if it was anyone else.

There was just something about him that drew Draco in, like the boy had his own gravitational pull that was dragging Draco slowly, but surely, into his orbit.  
Eventually, Lightning gave in after he realised his pleading, puppy eyes would not work on Draco this time (Draco’s stormy grey eyes were deep set in determination).

Taking in a deep breath, the boy began.

* * *

“I was sold away. By my own uncle,” Harry said, looking away from the older man, not wanting to see the disgust or pity there. Tears were starting to form in his eyes, like they always did whenever he the memory made an appearance—something that has lessened since the blond man had entered his mind.

Harry hadn’t wanted anyone to know how unwanted he was, how his own family sold him away for a small sum of money.

And now the person Harry lo—liked most knew. He knew how unworthy Harry was of his attentions and surely he would stop coming (a thought that made Harry’s heart clench painfully).

Waiting for the axe to fall, Harry curled into himself, his back facing the other male. It never came though.

Instead, he was embraced from behind, the warmth radiating off the other’s skin offered Harry comfort and escape.

“Okay, you don’t have to tell me anymore. I’m sorry for asking. Please don’t cry.”

“Don’t you find me disgusting? I’ve been touched by so many people, even my family hated me! I’m dirty. So dirty.” _Why would you want me?_ Was the unspoken question.

“Shh...I don’t think you are dirty. Sure I wish you did not have to suffer through being sold into prostitution but I think you are the strongest person I have ever met.”

“Why?” Harry breathed, still not facing the blond.

“Because you are still holding on to your hope.”

With that, Harry turned to burrow his face into the man’s pale chest, sobbing helplessly, not being able to contain his stubborn tears.

The man allowed it and tightened his hold, whispering calming words into Harry’s ears. Harry’s whimpering subsided after a while and the man pressed a light kiss to Harry’s temple.

“Sleep,” he commanded.

Harry did. In the blond man’s arms he felt safe and he soon slipped into Morpheus’ realm.

* * *

Draco had finally come to a decision.

He would buy Lightning.

After getting the idea of having Lightning exclusively to himself stuck in his brain—further enforced when he heard from the boy’s own mouth that he hated his life in the brothel, that he hadn’t chosen his fate—Draco had made up his mind after a week of careful contemplation.

 _You don’t even know his real name._ His Malfoy side, which values centre around self-preservation and holding the upper hand, tried to reason, once again on its never-ending quest to convince Draco to abandon his plan.

But no, this was not going to affect Draco again—Malfoys never changed their minds once it was made up, one of the many rules that were drilled into his mind since he was a child.

He had already gotten everything ready. No matter how much money Lightning made for Tom Riddle (yes, Draco knew who he was. The Malfoys didn’t only associate with legal businesses), Draco had no doubt that he could pay Riddle off in the end.

And he had.

Lightning would live with Draco in his penthouse suite—a place he had bought as an escape from his parents and Malfoy Manor in the guise of needing his ‘independence’—and would be able to do whatever he desired as long as he stayed by Draco’s side.

Draco’s trophy case was kept at his penthouse but he had made the following precautions to make certain Lightning wouldn’t find it in the duration of his stay (which Draco hoped would be a _very_ long time). He had locked all of it, including his dagger, into a tiny trunk and had hid it in a secret room behind one of his bookshelves (he had gotten the idea from a movie he had watched) he had installed just a few days ago.

He knew it would be smarter and safer to just get rid of it (bring it to an open field and watch it burn up in flames) but Draco saw this as some sort of closure. His secret life shut away, never to be opened again.

Yes, Draco had everything planned out perfectly in his head.

All he had to do now was tell Lightning.

Draco hadn’t told him yet, as honestly, he was afraid.

He was afraid that Lightning would flee as soon as he was free, he was afraid that Lightning didn’t actually love him.

Because that was exactly what Draco realised he felt for Lightning—love.

How Draco’s feelings had gone so far from his original goal to add Lightning to his list of victims was a mystery but he suspected it had something to do with the first time they met.

Draco had seen Lightning in a vulnerable state and he had looked _human_ , so unlike the sex objects Draco imagined all prostitutes to be, and perhaps that played a part in Lightning’s spared life for the first night.

And after that, it was just a matter of getting to know Lightning better to start Draco in his fall.

Previously, Draco’s motivation for killing those rent boys was that it made him feel so powerful and in control (the latter not something he had much of since the day he was born), like a supreme being and because Draco didn’t actually see them as people, those who sold themselves into the world of debauchery.

But now, he had seen that no, some of them hadn’t a choice. Some of them, like Lightning, had been sold away by their _families_. Draco shivered in disgust at the thought. He couldn’t imagine Lucius or Narcissa ever selling him, even if they found out about his sexual orientation and nightly escapades.

The bottom line was that, yes, prostitutes were as much human as Draco (loathe he was to admit it) and didn’t deserve to get their lives taken due to choices that weren’t their own.

So, Draco had sworn to himself that he would never kill anybody again (part of the reasoning to his oath was due to his revelation but a large chunk of it was because Draco knew Lightning would not take kindly to being with a murderer—not that Draco was ever going to tell him he was one in the first place—and he couldn’t have that, could he?)

And to satisfy his need to play god, Draco was going to do the opposite of what he did to all the other rent boys.

He would give Lightning a new life when before he brought only death.

_If Lightning isn't already in love with me, I'll ensure he does in the end._

_Yes_ , Draco smiled. _This is_ definitely _going to be better than killing random rent boys._

* * *

The door creaked open and Harry tensed up, only to beam when he saw that it was his blond lover in his usual disguise.

“And what are _you_ doing here so early?” Harry asked with a teasing smile, which his lover returned with a smirk.

Instead of taking off his disguise like Harry expected him to, he marched over to Harry and cupped his face; leaning in close enough that Harry could feel his lover’s breath dancing upon his lips.

“What are you doing?” Harry breathed, suddenly feeling quite nervous at the smug look on the blond’s face.

“I’m freeing you, that’s what I’m doing,” the older man replied, and Harry gasped in surprise, he hadn’t been expecting that, causing the smug grin on his lover’s face to grow wider.

_He didn’t—he didn’t just say what I think he said, did he?_

“Come again? I d-don’t think I heard you correctly the first time,” Harry stammered out, needing those words to be confirmed.

 _Is it true? Am I finally getting out of here?_ He did not ask, but the unspoken words were there.

His lover gave a mock-exasperated sigh, “You have to learn how to pay better attention beautiful.”

He took in a deep breath—and Harry knew he was doing it on purpose just to keep him in suspense, the bastard—and repeated, “I said I’m setting you free. I bought your ‘contract’ from Riddle a few days ago and I’ve made arrangements for your life outside this place. You’re free.”

The last word reverberated around in Harry’s mind and he couldn’t help it. He tackled Draco, successfully pinning him to the mattress, and showered his faces with kisses.

“I can’t believe this. I love you so much. Thank you,” Harry punctuated each word with a kiss, only to freeze when he realised what he had just said.

“What did you say?” the blond asked, and he seemed to be holding his breath.

“Uh...thank you?” Harry said, trying to cover up his mistake as well as get off his lover, only to be foiled when the taller man pulled him closer and whispered into his ear.

“No. What did you say before that? Tell me.”

“I s-said, I said I love you,” Harry muttered under his breath, just loud enough for the blond to catch.

“Good. Because I love you too.” the other male said and tears of joy welled up in Harry’s eyes. Never had he been told that he was loved before and he hadn’t expected the blond to return his feelings. After all, there was nothing special about him, he was nothing but a common whore. But the grey-eyed man actually loved him and both glee and relief flooded Harry. Suddenly, Harry felt the strangest urge to laugh.

“But don’t you think this is weird? I mean we had barely known each other for three months, we don’t even know each other’s names, but yet we just admitted our love for each other. That’s pretty bizarre.” Harry said.

“Well...now that I think about it, it does seem rather far-fetched. But we can fix it.”

The blond rolled off the bed, pulling Harry along with him. He sat Harry down at the edge of the bed and extended his right hand.

“Good day. My name is Draco Malfoy and I am pleased to meet your acquaintance.”

“Harry Potter,” Harry replied, accepting the proffered hand and using it to hoist himself up, “and the pleasure’s mine.”

“Harry,” Draco tried.

“Draco,” Harry said, savouring the name on the tip of his tongue.

“Harry. That’s a rather common name for such a unique individual.

“Draco seems like quite a pouncy name for such a masculine man,” Harry retorted, although his tone was flirtatious.

“Touché well played. But no more jokes. Time to pack up your things, Harry.”

Harry looked left and right then back up to face Draco.

“What things?”

“Surely you must own _something,_ ” Draco stared in disbelief.

“No, I don’t. Aside from the clothes I’m wearing, I really don’t own anything else. The rest all belong to the brothel and I don’t think I want to take _those_ with me,” Harry said as he pointed to the cupboard next to his bed, which were filled with lingerie and revealing pieces of clothes.

“Okay then. If there really is nothing else you want to bring along, let’s go.” Draco said, gesturing towards the door that Harry once despised but was now the way to his freedom.

Harry’s palms were sweaty as Draco slid his hands into them.

“Nervous?”

“Yeah,” Harry gulped. This would be the first time in nine years since Harry last saw the outside world and even though Draco had constantly brought him news describing it to him, he couldn’t help but wonder how it has changed and whether he would fit in.

“Relax.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Ready?” Draco asked.

“Ready.” Harry confirmed, bobbing his head.

And together they stepped out into a new beginning, for both of them.

**The End(or actually, a door opening)**

**Author's Note:**

>  **Mods' Note:** You may comment here or at [LiveJournal](http://dracotops-harry.livejournal.com/271387.html). Comments are ♥


End file.
